


The White Wall.

by shaedespot



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, closet angst, in the closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:44:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaedespot/pseuds/shaedespot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John won't tell Sherlock something and it's driving Sherlock to his wits end. A fill in fix it for Scandal in Belgravia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The White Wall.

It had been a tense week for everyone at 221b Baker Street not that there were any particularly pressing cases or feuds between the brothers. It had been quiet. Too quiet. Sherlock had his distractions his experiments and leads that he quickly solved. He was enjoying himself moderately with some presents molly had let him have from the morgue. It was John who strutted up and down the stairs restlessly. Typing away with a furrowed brow on his laptop in the living room. Sherlock found this slightly annoying; John’s thoughts were so loud he might as well have been a road worker with a jackhammer outside the window. Mrs. Hudson brought tea up and John barely looked up to grumble “thanks” and then left it to go cold while he typed. Sherlock couldn’t help himself. He marched over and riffed through some papers on John’s desk “ What are you writing about?”  
“ Us”  
“You mean me.”  
“ Why?”  
“ You’re typing a lot.” Sherlock looked into John’s eyes quickly and saw annoyingly, nothing. To Sherlock john was like an open book of damned poetry. He could read all he wanted and still not get what it was all for. The Doctor had nerves of steel yet the moment anyone saw past it into the contents of his heart he crumbled. The incident at the pool with the fein Moriarty had really thrown him for a loop. It didn’t regester with Sherlock until the walk back to the flat. John had been shaky and silent at Sherlock’s side, lost almost, absent mindedly reaching out to pinch Sherlock’s coat, despite the many such situations he had endured before. Could this somehow be to do with his family, Sherlock pondered. John hadn’t called his sister once since.

John seemed to only break his foul concentration when Sherlock physically touched him. Sherlock bent over his friend, rested his index finger into a large vein in Johns forearm, and pretended to read what he was writing.” geek interpreter?” Pulse suddenly elevated.  
“That’s just the title” John had got him, he hadn’t been reading. John was smiling again suddenly. Sherlock pressed him “ Does it need a title” John grinned too much to respond. Interesting. Sherlock mused as he torched a few fingers on the kitchen table. _Smiling:_ a submissive defense mechanism, when the victim thinks they have been cornered, a last resort when avoidance is no longer an option. The last wall, the mystery of John Watson. Sherlock chuckled to himself.

Over the past week Johns mood had soured further. The little peeve had taken to shooting Sherlock down in public, or trying to, and as much as Sherlock found it pathetic he couldn’t help wondering why, why now? What had made John suddenly turn offensive? Sherlock tried his experiment again. He walked over to johns desk with his torch and turned it off only once he saw John look concerned. Sherlock read over his shoulder very close.“ No, don’t put in the unsolved ones!“ He was. He was even taking the assault virtual.  
“ People want to know you’re human!” John had retorted.  
He knew it! ” No they don’t.” You do ” Why don’t they?” Why do you?  
The smile again. John didn’t answer just _smiled_ , and then the attack, telling Sherlock all about how his blog was the better one, not 240 types of tobacco ash. Sherlock seared the thumbs on the table in frustration. Why. Was he really so bored he was starting to deduce things about john for kicks? He tried to put it from his mind but it kept creeping back in. What was john’s wall in front of, and why hadn’t he phoned his sister, Why had he been spending all his free time out of the house with Stamford- Oh, Sherlock turned off the gas and chuckled. Oh I wonder. He tossed the thumbs back in the bag and replaced them in the fridge.

The next day Sherlock informed Lestrade of what john would call “ The Navel Treatment” Lestrade had been presented with a string of perverted killings and it hadn’t taken Sherlock but a few hours to see to whom they belonged, the man killed himself however in a theater. Lestrade was pleased at least. He informed Sherlock that a crowd had gathered outside. John inhaled sharply behind him.  
”well they won't  be interested in us.” Sherlock said with his best dismissal. John exhaled with control. Lestrade however, deftly informed him over his shoulder that this was not the case. John’s blog had made them, us, famous, together. Johns posture changed as he pushed past Sherlock, chest out, military bravado. Sherlock winced at it, so brave so weak. He slipped into a costuming room and snatched a hat. “ Cover your face and walk fast.” Sherlock handed the man a hat and then as an afterthought grabbed one for himself. The crowd outside flashed bulbs and snapped photos and pushed and tugged at their coats before they could get into the cab. John was wearing the smile as Sherlock sat down next to him  and then it vanished. John was keeping the public at an even greater distance than Sherlock; good, good well at least there was that.

The ride back to 221b was not cold and silent like it had been after the pool incident. John’s thoughts were like the surface of a stormy sea and he gulped in breaths between holding it and swallowing. He walked quickly to the front door. John rarely opened the door when they were together. Something was new. _This was too interesting_ , why did he care about the crowd. Sherlock was the private detective he could care, he didn’t really, people did a lot of things he disliked but it never affected him like it did John. He looked at the side of john’s face, it was flushed and at the top of the stairs he didn’t stop, Just kept walking up to his room. Sherlock had never followed him up before. Part of him didn’t want to know anything about John. He could imagine entering his room and immediately being overcome with things, clues into john’s secret life that, up until this point, he had rather liked left to the imagination. But, Sherlock’s mind was hungry to solve the case of John Watson, and as usual Sherlock bent to the will of this part of himself he could never quite control. His insatiable curiosity.

He needed a rouse. Mycroft had ingrained his technique of diplomacy into him from childhood. Sherlock walked quickly to the kettle and set it to boil. He picked up johns cup and rinsed it. No sugar. Sherlock took the milk out of the fridge; does john take milk in tea? Sherlock paced to the sitting room and searched the empty cups for milk rings, yes clear as day. Just then he heard Mrs. Hudson move around downstairs. No good, she would start talking as soon as she saw him. He set the jug of milk down on the mantle and sneaked out onto the landing and up the stairs. The white door stood slightly ajar. New, Sherlock had never touched it. The dirt patterns on the floor, the wear marks where john had-, no john did not lock his door, hadn’t once. The paint was fresh around the bolt. Sherlock nudged it open. Lets see what he says.

John was on his bed and he sat up sharply “pardon, Mrs. Hudson, I'm just having a lie dow-” John said quickly, and then stopped clearly baffled by Sherlock’s appearance.  
“ I brought you tea its four o’clock, time don’t you think?”  
John just stared at him with his mouth slightly open. “Ok, thank you?” he said finally taking the cup. The room was dim. He had pulled the curtains, trouble sleeping despite a keen desire to do so. The carpet was worn only in one place, two places. The closet and the bedside.  
”All right Sherlock what are you doing?” John said from somewhere distant.  
Sherlock stood in front of Johns closet and observed. Five button down shirts, two sweaters two vests.  
” Sherlock” Johns voice was peevish.  
The black and white shirt, completely unlike the others, a gift, no it was something else, something more sentimental it was worn, yet not by – Oh. Sherlock unbuttoned his own shirt. ” May I borrow your shirt John?” Sherlock said and unhooked it from the hanger.  
” What shirt? Why? You’ve got loads of your own, Sherlock what are! -“ John stood up and walked over but not quick enough to stop Sherlock from slipping into the shirt. It s twisted around him but yes. The wear pattern same height  yet wider than his form. John looked horrified but a small smile had crept onto his face.” That’s terrible.” “On you.” he added. His eyes melted into those pools of memory they sometimes did.  
“ Doesn’t matter how it looks it’s for an experiment” Sherlock mumbled.  
John snapped back, ”No, no experiments with johns clothes you can do whatever it is with your own shirts.”  
Sherlock pretended not to hear and walked toward the door. John always retaliated with like force, a little quirk he had picked up from the military no doubt. He grabbed Sherlock by his upper arm and pulled him back inside. _Ah,_ Sherlock walked again to the door this time forcefully. That did it. John swung him around and pushed him against the wall and then proceeded to remove the shirt, carelessly pulling out some of Sherlock’s hair. John’s eyes were focused and angry but there was delicateness about him too that belayed fear. He backed away with the shirt and Sherlock relaxed back against the wall. His cold steel eyes peered into a world of thought. “It doesn’t bother me, why does it bother you.” He thought out loud.  
“ What doesn’t – it should.” John said his adrenaline still pumping.  
His nightstand had three objects keys, phone, and tea. No pictures. A lack of sentiment Sherlock understood but John? He wasn’t like that.  
“What’s this experiment then? We don't have a case. Unless there is something you haven’t told me, wouldn’t be new.” John said hanging the shirt back up. Sherlock was far away.  
“ Mind palace John” he growled.  
“Listen your mind palace is in your own room, now-“  
“ Stamford knows doesn’t he,” Sherlock half smiled bitterly ”but I don’t.”

John swallowed. Sherlock stood up slowly and began to leave. John without forethought grabbed the crook of his bare arm and Sherlock staggered back. He turned, his blue eyes wide and waiting. His skin smooth, pale and as he pulled him closer John could smell it like a wet sharpened pencil. John’s hand was held to Sherlock’s arm by a force john knew too well and he hated that horribly familiar feeling. He knew exactly what he was doing. Sherlock was silent and stared at johns face his eyes flicking over it, reading. Sherlock suddenly slipped his hands up onto John’s face and stared hard into his eyes. John swallowed and tried to shake his head but he was hardly able.  
“No one can know.” John whispered.  
“ No one can know what?” Sherlock’s eyes searched John’s irises as if he might see something in there. He was so close John could smell his lips, sweet and sharp. John closed his eyes. Anyone other than Sherlock, and he would have known. He pulled away and their lips unstuck,

wait.

  
“ No one can know what?” Sherlock said again. Small creases formed in the corners of his eyes.  
John stammered, “Did you just-” he definitely had, John could feel the wet cooling on his lip. Sherlock breathed in. His lower lids crept up giving him that terrible look, Sherlock opened his mouth but John was having none of that. He slid their lips together, again warm and comfortable. His mouth was so sweet, anyone else. Anyone else. Was it wrong? Oh god yes.  
With sudden force Sherlock pushed back.

John opened his mouth.  
“Shut up” Sherlock said and pointed a finger at john.” I’m thinking”  
Sherlock unbuckled his belt and drew out the leather. John in a staggering reflex grabbed the belt and tossed it out of reach on the bed. He reached around Sherlock’s waist and pulled him close. The bulge in Sherlock’s pants brushed against john sparking his own. Sherlock stoically let John’s warm hands pull him toward the bed. When Sherlock pressed his chest to johns the shirt stuck to his damp skin in places. The two sat down gently on the edge of the bed. John stared hard at Sherlock's eyes as he undid his button and zip. Sherlock lay back slowly onto the rumpled sheets. John searched his flat mate’s face but his sky like eyes were clear as ever no sweat or blush to his cheeks. John lent over him and pressed his lips into Sherlock’s neck and tasted his skin. He sucked the skin luxuriously and Sherlock’s leg twitched involuntarily against John's belt buckle cold pressed against it. Sherlock reached down and moved it away unbuckling it in the process. John opened his eyes. “ Well apparently you are human.” john said looking at the blood swollen just under the surface. Sherlock pushed shim self up on his arms. He was breathing quickly now but his expression was just the same.“ If you think you are going to distract me John you’re wrong.” Sherlock said with a tight inhale. John narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. He rolled his hips and pressed his hard cock into the side of Sherlock’s leg. Sherlock’s agile hand lifted suddenly. He then let it drop down and pushed his way beneath John’s pants.

he felt the contours of his penis and the soft yet thick hair around it. He rolled his thumb up the shaft. John watched his face. Sherlock’s eyes danced closed as if fighting sleep and his breath was short and came in shudders. John grasped Sherlock’s lip soft and wet and tasted them in little bites. He then pressed his tongue into his sweet mouth again and deeply played. Sherlock slowly arched his hips up pressing his own erection against John. _Oh. Interesting._ The sensation of john’s belly on his cock was irrationally compelling. He made a small sound deep in his chest. Sherlock grabbed johns arm and pushed him gracelessly down into the bed. Their lips unlocked. He found johns neck and bit into it. He pressed hard against john and growled contentedly. He pulled back dragging himself down johns body and felt johns dewy cock rub into the hair on his stomach. Suddenly He wanted that. All over him. He looked up through the mess of his hair and saw john was looking at him wildly. 

  
“ What were you talking about again?” john said with a smirk. Sherlock wasn’t having any of that. He looked down at john’s pants they were dark red where wet. He moved them away with his fingers and stared at john’s smooth head. He touched the fluid and his fingertip stuck. that. Sherlock backed down off the edge of the bed and took the head of john’s cock between his lips and rolled his tongue over the tiny hole at the tip. John grabbed at his shoulder and wrended him away Sherlock glared at him. John made a small whimper  
“ Not yet”  
Sherlock fumed “ all right, then tell me.” He breathed, “ What can’t anyone know?” Johns eyes widened he pushed Sherlock back onto his knees and then sat up himself facing him. He wound his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and breathed into his ear.

” I can’t” he said and let his lip rest on Sherlock’s cheek. John slid his hands down Sherlock’s arms and grasped his hands in his. When Sherlock opened his eyes again john had a smile on his face but this one was sot and almost amused. John pulled Sherlock up into the bed over him. He rolled him over easily into the pillows and slid off Sherlock’s pants and trousers and kicked them off the bed. When he turned back his eyes became lost in the beauty of Sherlock’s skin. His dark hair laid out in an even pattern on his thighs the swirls of thick hair around his penis. John touched himself softly and then leaned down and let his hair drag down Sherlock’s stomach. Sherlock reached and caught the back of john’s head and pulled at his short hair but it slipped from his grasp as john s mouth slid around his cock. His mouth was so soft and hot. John groaned loudly vibrating the tip. Sherlock loved the wetness. He found the corners of john’s mouth with his fingers and felt them suck onto him. Just then the stairs outside shook beneath them as if someone large was running up in a hurry. John’s reeled back. He looked at Sherlock wide eyed.

“ Well, go see who it is.” Sherlock said grouchily eyeing the door.  
“ Oh god, oh god. Ok” John panted bolting off the bed.  
Suddenly there was a loud bang and Mrs. Hudson yelled up to them. “ Boys! You’ve got another one!”  
John did his pants back up and tucked in his shirt and then ran down stairs.  
Sherlock curled up in the sea of John’s crisp white sheets. Think Sherlock! What would John not want his family to know, something to do with John being exposed in public. Sherlock sat up. Something to do with whoever’s shirt that once was.


End file.
